A/N: Sorry for the delay between updates! The next chapter may be a while in coming as well, because I'm still trying to figure out what I'm doing and how to make it all work. But I sincerely hope it will be worth your while. :)
As Lady Jaina pointed out in her review, the name "Jael" does indeed come from the Bible; I used that name fully aware of her story in Judges, where she killed a king. So Lady Jaina gets extra points for noticing. ;) And even more points will be 'awarded' to whoever figures out the other character name straight from the Bible (hint: it would be an OC, and he was a king).
FantasyFan- I'm glad you're enjoying the story! As for Joram getting off too easy, well, Frodo *did* tell Aragorn to be lenient, though as you'll see at the end of this chapter, Joram doesn't appreciate that mercy. Joram's role in this story is not over yet, that is all I will say.
x-silver-sapphire-x- All right, you caught me. I did kind of forget about Legolas and Gimli there for a while, but now that I realize the oversight I will have to have them visit at least once before the end. ;) And I did intend to write "travails" -which means "work, especially when arduous or involving painful effort; toil. Tribulation or agony; anguish." (thanks to dictionary.com on that). I think you would agree that Frodo's journey definitely involved at least some of those! :)
And thank you to those reviewers I didn't mention by name; I appreciate all reviews I get, and your feedback can affect how I write upcoming parts. So don't be shy to suggest something!
Chapter 11
Sam sat bolt upright in bed. Once fully awake and aware, he paused. What woke him up? Strider on one side and Jael on the other were both still sleeping, and Gandalf was softly snoring in the chair next to the bed, Frodo still lying comfortably in his arms. The pale dawn light revealed only vague shapes, but nothing seemed amiss; the fire had burned low and the glowing coals cast eerie shadows on the floor and walls of the silent room, but again, nothing was visibly wrong.
But the last time he had woken up like this, Frodo had worsened... and he could no longer clearly hear the rattling gasps of his master's breaths. With growing dread, Sam peered into the dusky light, trying to make out Frodo's features from the shadows cast by Gandalf. While he doubted Gandalf would be sleeping if Frodo's condition had deteriorated further, Sam was still anxious and decided to check. Carefully crawling down to the foot of the bed, trying not to disturb either of the Big Folk still resting, he let himself down and padded around the end of the bed to investigate.
The wizard snored on, his head drooping forward, but his hold on Frodo never faltered. Frodo also looked to be sleeping, and Sam was relieved to note that Frodo was breathing, his chest moving ever so slightly up and down. Sam moved slightly, and the sparse firelight gleamed upon Frodo's face, casting it in a ruddy glow. Tentatively, Sam reached out and touched Frodo's face with two fingers, brushing a lock of sweat-dampened hair off of his forehead, and smiling at the absence of feverish heat.
"Be at peace, Samwise. He has turned the corner," Gandalf said, startling Sam nearly out of his breeches. He hadn't noticed when the wizard ceased snoring, and now he wondered if Gandalf had ever really been asleep. Gandalf laughed at his dumbfounded expression, then urged, "Go back to sleep. He won't wake for a while yet."
Sam was reluctant, even as he yawned, but decided that it was too early in the day to argue with a wizard and conceded defeat, climbing back up the end of the bed and crawling back between Strider and Jael once more.
~~~~
He could smell the strong scent of pipeweed standing out from the other aromas weaved into the fabric, and buried his face deeper in the folds of the familiar-smelling robe. The colour of that robe may have changed, but it was undeniably the same person he remembered enthusiastically embracing as a child in the care of his Uncle Bilbo. The first Big Person he had met... and one made legendary in Bilbo's stories long before he ever been able to meet him.
He could hear the sounds of others beginning to filter through his consciousness as he slowly surfaced from the pool of dreams in which he'd been submerged; one voice stood out, as he heard it rumble through the person who held him so gently. Other voices gradually became clearer: Sam, no doubt hovering nearby; Aragorn, and that lady... what was her name again? Jael... the name appeared from somewhere in his memory.
He could feel himself being shifted, moved, then placed onto the familiar softness of that huge bed, the comforting arms beginning to draw away... "Gandalf," he murmured softly in protest.
"Shh, Frodo. Just sleep. I'll be nearby," the wizard soothed.
He felt himself sliding back into welcoming darkness... he was so tired... Gandalf's hand eased through his damp curls, nudging him gently back into healing sleep.
~~~~
"Will he remember any of this?" Sam asked, taking the tray from Jael and holding it, careful not to spill any of the barely-eaten chicken broth and half-drunk tea as she tucked Frodo back in and wiped his mouth of a few small drips. The sun's mid-afternoon rays slanted in the window, spilling across the bed as they finished trying to feed Frodo for the third time, waking him up just enough that he could swallow easily and obey their commands.
Jael paused in arranging the blankets and answered, "Perhaps, but only vaguely. He hasn't even been fully awake yet, I don't think, not even when he spoke earlier." The ill hobbit had protested as Gandalf put him back in bed following a warm bath. Jael cast a look back at Sam. "Why do you ask?"
"I was just curious," he said as he shifted uncomfortably. "He'll be mighty confused about the time and such when he wakes, is all."
She chuckled. "That often happens when one is so ill."
"Aye," Sam answered somewhat reluctantly. "But it's like he keeps track in his head, and he gets mighty uptight if he misses some time."
Jael shook her head in amusement as she finished arranging the covers. "And was he upset about the time he missed while you both were recovering after your journey?"
"Well, no, but that couldn't be helped. *This* didn't have to happen…" he trailed off.
She rose from the bed and took the tray from him. "Aye, you are right about that."
"…It's like he knows 'e only has a bit o' time left to him and don't want to miss any," Sam finished his thought musingly.
~~~~
"... you should've seen their faces! They couldn't believe they had to go do the *laundry*! And that nasty barkeep has to do all of our laundry by himself!" Pippin was eagerly regaling Frodo with his version of Aragorn's judgements as he sat next to his cousin, Merry and Sam also on the bed nearby, though silent, as Pippin would barely let them get a word in edgewise.
"The *laundry*?! Good heavens. Aragorn, have you gone mad?" Frodo addressed the man as he strode through the door.
The King had entered with the intention of speaking to Gandalf, who stood near the fire, conversing with Jael. But the hobbit's voice brought him out of his reverie and he went to the side of the bed instead. "So good to see you awake Frodo," he smiled. "And no, I have not gone mad. I was merely taking advantage of the situation. Some men needing punishment and the laundries needing help... put them together and it makes for an easy solution. Besides, I remember a certain hobbit requesting a merciful sentence... They will only help until the ambassadors leave," he defended himself as he sat in the chair by the side of the bed, coming down to the eye level of the small folk.
Frodo looked doubtful. "But will they really be a help? I can easily see them causing trouble for the poor people who usually work down there."
"That is why I have assigned guards to ensure they behave themselves," Aragorn winked and sat back in his chair. "But now, how are you feeling? I confess I'm surprised to see you awake."
Frodo started to answer, but yawned instead. "Tired," he admitted ruefully as Aragorn chuckled.
"Then perhaps Pippin should finish his story another time," he suggested. "That is, if you are finished with your dinner," he added, motioning to the tray on Frodo's lap.
"Oh, yes, I'm quite done, thank you," Frodo said, looking down at the bowl of broth and cup of tea and turning a little green at the thought of more.
Merry took the hint and crawled off the bed, dragging Pippin with him, as Aragorn rose and took the tray from Frodo's lap. Sam helped Frodo lay back a bit and rearranged the blankets before climbing down himself to let his master have some peace and quiet. Frodo was quickly asleep again, and the other hobbits resumed their meal, still laid out on the short table by the window, momentarily forgotten in the enthusiasm over Frodo's awakening.
Jael and Gandalf ended their conversation as the King approached with Frodo's tray. "I am relieved to see him awake," Aragorn said as he set the tray on the table. "I had not expected him to wake until tomorrow."
"You should know to expect anything when it comes to our dear hobbits," Gandalf reminded him, amused.
Aragorn laughed, and said, "You are absolutely right, as usual. But perhaps I may be forgiven of my oversight, since I have other pressing matters at hand."
Gandalf sobered and asked, "Have the emissaries objected to your terms?"
"Not exactly. They are demanding . . . " his voice dropped out of hearing range as he and Gandalf left the room to discuss the newest obstacle.
Jael watched them go with some amusement, shaking her head as she took care of Frodo's leftovers. He hadn't eaten much, and had to be assisted, but she hoped he would soon be regaining his strength and appetite now that the fever had cleared. With rest and nourishment the matter in his lungs would clear as well, though he would remain weak and easily fatigued for some time. That much she knew.
~~~~
He was coaxed awake by the lilting of voices, one gentle and sweet sounding from just above his head, the other rougher but no less tender from a little higher and further away. He was soothed by the melodic rise and fall of the voices, hearing no distinct words. He drifted on their sound until he became aware the voices had ceased their hypnotic murmur. The absence of noise grated on his ears where the music of voices had earlier calmed him, and he pulled himself closer to consciousness.
Frodo became aware he was again resting in Jael's embrace, comfortably reclined against her as he slept. He sighed carefully as he came fully awake, noting the congestion still lingering in his chest and blinking as he surveyed the room. No one else was in his range of sight; he shifted slightly and debated whether he should go back to sleep.
Jael felt him move and looked down to see his eyes open. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she teased.
He yawned. "Is it morning?" he asked, feeling foolish for not even knowing the time of day.
"Aye, 'bout midmorning, if I don't miss my guess."
"Of what day?"
"Well, this will be the... fourth day I've been 'ere," Jael supplied after a moment's contemplation. "Are you hungry?"
"No, thank you. I'm a bit thirsty, though," Frodo admitted.
Jael reached to the table and presented before him a cool cup of tea. He took it with both hands, and she kept her hand close in case his grip faltered. The tepid drink felt good on his aching throat, and he recognized the taste of chamomile and honey. He willingly drained the mug, sighing in satisfaction when he finished. Jael returned the mug to the table with a chuckle.
"Where are the others?" Frodo asked.
"Sam was dragged off by the other two for a bath, and the King has returned to the council chamber for the day."
"Who was in here before? It sounded like a man..."
Jael smiled. "That was my husband."
"-Esli," Frodo supplied.
"Aye." The conversation paused then as Frodo yawned and watched a servant girl as she entered with a stack of clean linens, stowed them away in a chest at the end of the bed, then retreated out the door with the small pile of dirty items.
"Where are you from, anyway?" he asked sleepily. "Your accent is different..."
Jael smiled. This hobbit certainly had keen ears! "Well, I live now in Minas Tirith, but I spent my childhood in the Belfalas region, north of Dol Amroth in a small village on the Sea."
Frodo sat up a little straighter, now fully awake. "The Sea!" he gasped. He craned his neck to look up at her beseechingly. "Please... tell me about the Sea."
She wondered briefly about his fascination with the Sea, but dismissed it as the curiosity of a native of a land-locked country. "Well, the Sea is vast, so much larger than you can even imagine. Its mood depends upon the weather, sometimes a steely slate grey to reflect the brooding clouds above, and sometimes a sparkling mirror in shades of blue and green under the bright Sun. When the wrath of a storm is raging, the waves crash angrily upon the rocks, dashing themselves into a fine spray that mingles with the rain as it lashes down. But when it is calm, the Sun shining cheerfully over boundless turquoise depths, there is nothing more soothing than the whisper of the tide gently licking its way up the white sand and the cry of the sea-birds wheeling lazily overhead..." she recalled fondly the childhood days spent upon the beach, before the water that brought such joy in summer brought terror and death in the winter.
"Does it really smell salty?" Frodo asked, enthralled by her description of that strange and haunting body of water.
"Why, yes, but after a while you don't notice it anymore," she replied, confused. How did he know to ask about the salt smell? She garnered a partial answer in his next words.
"Just like in my dream..." he muttered thoughtfully. It was one of his most vivid recurring dreams, one of the very few that survived his journey unscathed. In his dream he did not actually see the Sea itself; he stood on a dark heath, hearing the sound of the Sea far-off, and a strange salt smell was in the air. Before him was a tall white tower, and a great desire came over him to climb the tower and see the Sea. But every time he would only start to approach the tower before the dream came to an abrupt end. His longing to go to the coast and finally see with his own eyes what teased the edges of his dreams only grew with time.
"Were there ships?"
"Yes, of course! My father had a small fishing boat, as did most of the families in town. The town was founded because of the abundance of fish in the area, and we traded with some other nearby communities for what we couldn't make ourselves. Sometimes we saw majestic ships from Dol Amroth, flying the banner of the Ship and the Silver Swan, bound on some mission to the Langstrand, north and west of us. But the biggest treat of all, and a very rare occurrence, was to see an Elven ship, sailing West."
"There were Elves?" he asked, surprised. "I thought they only set sail from the Grey Havens."
"Most do. Or they did. Now all of them must journey to Mithlond, for there are none left in Edhellond to build the ships."
"They all left?"
"Yes. There was still a small community of them when I was a small child, but they all decided to flee Middle-Earth shortly after the Corsair raids."
"Oh." Frodo sat thoughtfully considering this wealth of new information.
"Do you ever wish you were still there?" he asked suddenly.
"Oh yes," Jael readily admitted. "There have been times where I would give anything to be back there, splashing in the surf and feeling the sand squish between my toes."
"So why don't you go?"
"It is a long way, especially for a woman to travel... I cannot afford it... and even if those problems were taken care of, I would have nothing to go back to..." she stopped when the hobbit yawned hugely. "And I will stop talking now so you can get some rest."
"All right, I suppose..." he murmured, already drifting off to sleep.
~~~~
Descending several progressively narrower staircases down into the cool stone bowels of the building, the servant girl made her habitual journey to the steamy laundry rooms where dirty was made clean, dry made wet and wet made dry. She walked confidently through several outer chambers, dodging the sweaty bodies of other servants and their loads of sopping linen and making her way through the clouds of steam billowing from the huge basins of water, laced with the stringent aroma of lye soap. The room was filled with chatter, the women eagerly exchanging gossip as they labored over the tubs; the girl signalled to several of her friends, motioning she would give them exclusive bits of news once rid of her load. After all, she had been in the same room as the important perian! That alone was enough to put her in higher esteem amongst her peers, for she had seen him with her very eyes, not just heard about him from the sister of a friend's cousin, and heard him talking with that woman who had so quickly and mysteriously gained the King's favor.
Reaching the very back of laundering area, she nodded at the soldiers standing guard at the narrow doorway to another small room, being permitted entrance with her burden of soiled items. These she dropped onto the heap just inside the door, a pile that never seemed to shrink but only grow, much to the consternation of the room's single occupant.
Joram spared the girl an icy glare before turning back to the mindless work before him. He was learning how this worked as he went along, being harshly dressed down by the imperious matron of the laundry for any and all mistakes. She rather enjoyed giving him tongue-lashings, or so it seemed to him, and always critiqued his work with an unforgiving eye, though he was quickly discovering the way things needed to be and providing her fewer opportunities for comment.
As the tireless cycle of washing became ingrained, it left a lot of time for thinking, something no doubt anticipated by the King in assigning this sentence. But the barkeep's thoughts were not filled with remorse or even regret for his hand in the events that brought him here. No, instead his mind was busily at work on plans and schemes . . . for revenge. He would make them pay, and pay dearly. The King, that insufferable Esli and his miserable wife, and, most of all, that impertinent halfling.
He paused in his work when an idea struck him and a smirk crept across his face as he carefully examined it from every angle. He needed a more exact plan, but that just might work . . .
Joram returned to the scrubbing with renewed diligence, his mind busy plotting the cruelest scheme of his life.
TBC